


I suffocate with the things they say

by kurojiri



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Hogwarts House Sorting, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Good Draco Malfoy, Insecurity, Introspection, M/M, Ravenclaw & Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Ravenclaw Draco Malfoy, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Self-Worth Issues, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Ron Weasley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurojiri/pseuds/kurojiri
Summary: It started out in a calm June day. Then it plummeted even further when he was sorted in Hogwarts.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Anthony Goldstein, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 107
Collections: HP Butterfly Fest 2019





	I suffocate with the things they say

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I would to thank the mods from the event, HP Butterfly Fest for giving me this extension to finish this fic. Really, thank-you!! I would have not been able to pull this off without them being very understanding. As well, for creating this event because it had gave me an incentive to even try out this idea when I saw someone had wrote this idea. 
> 
> I'm sorry it didn't go to the actual rating it was asked for, but believe me I had hoped to have reached to Year 3-4 but this had been all I could write to. But, what I do hope is for making this into a series and eventually getting to a higher rating since this year just went to Draco being a confused boy with his feelings in general. Romance would come up soon, its only referenced here as they are still too young. But, nonetheless, I hope you enjoy this. It had been fun writing Year 1. 
> 
> And to other people who gave this fic a chance by reading, thank-you too!

Truthfully speaking, Draco Malfoy had been terrified. 

He would never admit it out loud but, when he woke earlier when it still had been June, Draco felt that something bigger than himself would appear before him; a kind of distance and disaster that would eventually choke him if he didn't pay enough attention to decrease those chances. It had left him breathless as it had isolated him when he couldn't figure how to truly calm himself when he knew that it would come and torture him. Something like quicksand that had been placed under his feet before he could dodge it.

He knew that his father would have dismissed it entirely. Or that his mother would worry in her own way that involved for him to be smothered in a posh dignity that she could afford when they weren’t away from closed doors, but Draco had known that it had been taught and expected for him to mind his body. 

While at the same time to disassociate from any ill behavior that didn't fit the image of what a perfect Heir should uphold to. It hadn't been like his parents dismissed him entirely, yet rather, they had instilled how he should have maintained and circled back to fooling himself and everyone else that he had everything under control. 

The sentiment hadn’t been delivered perfectly. Which could have been a sign itself when he had been riding his broom in his spare time. With the wind fanning his hair, and the heat of the sun was primarily keeping him awake. (It would be awful to be burnt and having his delicate features ruined because he couldn’t remind himself to cool off in the shades when it was the hottest.) In those hours, and when his freedom had been marked off again, he had to wonder why he wanted to be paranoid. 

Nothing before had left him afraid. 

Or at any rate anything too horrifying that could have jumped into his realm where the manor had been keeping him sedated. The unknown of his future should have been happier than it was; yet what happened was his own magic becoming thicker, richer at the same time when Draco’s worries bled through his activities. 

He never found out the cause of it until it had been too late. He blamed it on the Black Madness from his mother’s side. That sixth sense had been a curse as much as it had been a gift. Not that he would ever tell anyone else of that because he knew from his mother’s past, of what she had told him, was that secrets especially if they were family related couldn’t be shared freely. Nobody without a good sense of pride would do that. 

Which had explained why Draco had been left speechless many times when he had heard the few snippets of his parents’ conversations. With his mother’s carefully placed sighs that could be mistaken for the air currents slipping in and her invisible eye rolls that few could catch their meanings it wasn't hard to see that she knew how to win her battles. She had often spoken with the gentleness of a spider’s web. So intricate and strong. It had often been a sign that showed that while she was bred and trained to be the perfect Lady and wife, Narcissa Malfoy was not a weak woman. 

She had been a true vision of what an underestimated leader looked like. For pretenses, his father had been the head. He did do everything to maintain the air of being powerful, but each of them knew that it had been his mother that knew where to strike, where to defend and when exactly could they offer moments of themselves to be gentle. 

From the few disagreements that they had come across, they had often shown how strong of a unit they were. 

And when Draco had become less enthusiastic about his future, it had been his mother that knew that they all had to come together again in order for him to face his fears. In a Slytherin fashion, they took care of each other. Always. 

In the waking hours, when the manor had been slower, he had picked out whatever lint that shown in his peripheral vision. His shoes shined brightly and his hair had been half gelled with the ends still freely flying when he walked closer to an open window. From that viewpoint, his shyness that he didn’t like came like a warm cup did when a brunch included only himself and his parents. 

In a sense, the vulnerability had never been shed off. 

He couldn’t go a day without feeling small, insignificant and unneeded. It had been true that he had a role to play, a means of working for a future that was inevitable; but true ambition had never been plugged in. Only second glances for the silver spoon that has been placed between his hands. A superficial significance of course, but still empty when he flew on his broom or had to maintain his summer reading that his mother enforced to keep his mind going. Anything away from that, though Draco couldn’t properly see the comfort he had now when he thought of Hogwarts. 

All he could see was the hope of being the Malfoy he was expected to be was waning. Floating so aimlessly and with a fragile strength of a dingy paper boat he sometimes made with his mother’s wand when he let it drift off into the water fountains they had in the gardens. It would soak from the bottom to the tops after the charms he placed would slip off. 

He would remember how the water traveled, how it made the scribbled parchments become soggy messes as the folds became undone and sink under. His mother would scold him if she caught him in the act. His father would agree with his mother’s comments but in the end, Draco would go back to it again. Watching. Half intrigued by the demise of the paper boat, and then back to how his thoughts would drown by the sight of it. Any and all paper creations he made had the same downfall. 

Crumbling after the added pressure of life (and by their case, the physical embodiment as water).

It had been the night before, when he bothered to think back on his trip when he got his robes done and getting the rest of his supplies when he thought back to that boy. 

His bed had been prepared with a couple of house elves moving in the background as they rechecked his carrier. The cage for his owl had been placed by his studying desk. As well, the clothes he would be leaving in had been hung over by his vanity where the mirror had the reflection of the clear moon and image of the cream walls of his room.

Nothing had really triggered for it, but when he had looked over the casual robes, he had okayed for his mind to go back to that morning. The shop had been fairly cluttered and his apprehension had been at an on all-time low that his excitement had overwhelmed his parents for breakfast that morning. It felt like he had been polished with a new type of happiness that came when it made him feel like a normal eleven-year-old boy when he finally had the chance to talk to someone other than those from the circles his parents pre-approved.

Draco would never know why the circumstances had worked that way, but he had nonetheless had been grateful when he met him. Years later he would know how lucky and purely coincidental it had been when he introduced himself to him, but at the time, when he was safely inside his room and mentally preparing himself to sleep, he thought back to the interesting expressions he got from him. How lost the other boy had been when he explained the Houses that Hogwarts maintained.   
On another day, and maybe in another world Draco may have ignored him entirely. But in this one, he had shyly made his first new acquaintance.

With his anxiety blooming with his future looming, he couldn’t help but wonder how it must have felt for that boy when he walked inside Diagon Alley. And how it must have felt to talk to someone like himself. He supposed it must have been tiring, but a very interesting day. 

It started when he had been called up.

The room roared with an anticipation that had been palpable around his magic. It had sent him into another state when he sat down and waited for the hat to speak its judgement. It had scared him when the hat didn’t immediately send him off to Slytherin. And maybe that had been the first sign of trouble or destiny playing a new game at his expense, seeing that when he had watched the crowd single him out, and the professors eyeing him, Draco had been starting to sweat by the pressure he was given.

It had been bold. The hat that is. It had known the pressures that Draco had, to see how much tradition was at stake when the hat had lifted its own body and swayed, in mock playfulness as it turned into his current thoughts and his previous memories. Draco forced himself to sit straight. To breathe as normal as he could. To find a way to maintain his skin clear from any telling emotions like panic and impatience.

A perfect student like a future Slytherin knew the importance of maintaining their composure when it came to the fronts of many speculations. He had thought that that performance had been correct for the situation. A fail safe seeing that the boy, who was now named as Harry Potter, was watching him trying to save his face by acting coolly. Was he succeeding? Or did they all know that he was failing so miserably? He couldn’t tell at all when most of his attention went to the hat, who wouldn’t stop talking, humming and shrugging its non-existential shoulders as a way to provoking Draco’s train of thoughts. 

_It shouldn’t be taking this long!_ Draco wanted to shout to the hat, but the thought had been enough for it soak it in. To chuckle at how Draco’s own cheeks were starting to lose the paleness and instead have his cheeks be infused with a red coloring. 

He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t stand the way the four houses were observing him squirm by the micro centimeters from the wooden stool. It had been an uncomfortable minute, then two, three—up until it reached its concluding seven minutes. They hadn't chatted up. Draco hadn’t been able to when his memories had been shared by the tie he had momentarily with the hat. An exchange of his privacy, the hat did offer his advice.

It had a low voice that had been warmer than his scarf rolled around his neck. Warmer the warming charm that his mother or the elves placed when he used to run around the manor during winter. It didn’t surprise him, but it had been a welcomed gesture when he asked again why the process went on so long and without a proper introduction when it entered his head. 

_Oh, excuse me for that._ Not that it stopped for the hat from flapping its ends and messing up his gelled hair in the process. 

Before he could open his mouth, that did of course use it as an excuse to ask him what Draco thought had been the most important thing for him to learn in Hogwarts. An image came—held his heart with a painful lure and then the cryptic message came. 

_I see._ Then out loud: “Ravenclaw!” 

Strange how the world was lifted high, and soaring in a type of sudden chills that reached and then spread itself all over his body. He couldn’t yell. Couldn't form many words when his upper body had supported his journey to the (wrong) table. Had the blue always been so dark? Or the bronze seems too tacky when in comparison to the elegance of silver and green? 

It had been hard to form any conversations when it had been hard already to pick up his spoon and eat. 

So, he just sat there numb to the rest of the world. 

It had felt like he had been submerged into the lake. He had been floating longer than he would have liked, watching how nobody and everyone wanted to watch him topple down from the feast. To hear him crack into a million little pieces. It didn’t help that when it had been Potter’s turn and it looked like he had a long conversation with the hat, (unlike himself) that his tie had turned into the exact coloring that he, Draco Malfoy failed to get.

He didn’t curse. (But he wanted to.) He clapped like he was suppose to. Not that he gave Potter a smile. But maybe he should have with how divided the Houses were when the sorting hat had screamed out Slytherin. Draco didn't think that it had been strange that the headmaster didn’t smile at that sorting since he had been too busy with his own worries to notice it, or how his godfather, Severus Snape had been too shell shocked to be stuck with his past. But then, he had been eleven then. His own troubles had triumphed others.

The selfishness that he had been led to cultivate had been enough for him to not acknowledge how the first Weasley since the war had been sorted into Slytherin too. He couldn’t deal with it. Not when he had been twirling his fingers from under the table. Or having to hear the whispers of the whole school processing the information that their current Savior and the previous Dark Lord now belonged to the same house. When the speech came and the food materialized Draco did his best to not waste whatever he placed onto his plate.

Failure or not, he had been taught better than to waste the manners he had been drilled with. He still had a reputation of sorts to maintain as a Malfoy. Although he could unfortunately say that he had only found himself relieved when it had been time to clean up and head to his new dorm. Even if he had wanted to shout and beg for his godfather to take him into the Slytherin dorm too; instead he had forced himself to marched towards the middle of the crowd. The pack of first years would huddle and keep his body busy. That, and because he needed to pay attention on how to get to the main hall and from the Ravenclaw Tower. 

He may not like how everything was wrong, but he also knew that he would not want to look like a lost fool. After living so long in his manor, he had to give credit that the castle of Hogwarts was too complex. It would take a week, if a month if he was too careless to memorize most of the pressing locations. He needed to keep thinking logically. It would be his only source of comfort until he would reach his new dorm, and only when he had the privacy of his bed would he finally release his frustrations and fears.

But until then.

He would keep on looking at all the walls. Each window’s unique glass art and paintings that looked friendly enough if he needed their assistance. Although, what he also caught was the extremely long tour that they had to endure. It became clear that he had miscalculated. His new life in Hogwarts would be bumpier than he wanted. It had been bad enough that he broke tradition, but then the trip to getting anywhere other than the astronomy class (since the prefects had nonchalantly gave them that nugget of information), meant that they all had to wake up earlier and have all their belongings with them already or face the consequences of not planning adequately.

He could see the advice too when his legs gave up multiple times. The only thing that had helped him ease the embarrassment had been the fact that he had not been singled out by his weak knees. Flying for hours could only help so far when it went against the staggering levels of stairs they had to walk. Draco may have not known what an escalator was, but when he heard the description, he had nodded along with the creation for them. The castle already had the moving staircase, surely the professors, or even the headmaster could supply for people to enchant the current layout of stairs that they had now to travel up and down for them. Stranger things had been accomplished before!

It had been when they were all breathless and puffing for air, that the prefects had the audacity to tell them that the only way to enter would be to solve the riddle the eagle would ask. That, or someone would pity them and help them out. For a house that loved to engage and nurture people that believed in logic and wisdom-seekers, they had a really horrible way to keep their students in check. The stairs were already a horrible side step, but now after dying from walking that distance, Draco had to keep his mind sharp enough to get inside where his bed and belonging were? All he knew that when he spoke to his parents (and if they decided if they wouldn’t disown him) that he would ask his father to help raise funds to make it accessible for Ravenclaw students to travel faster from in and out of the tower. 

He was sure that no one would mind if that suggestion made any progress within his time as a student. If anything they would probably thank the influence that he had. But first. 

He had went straight inside the dorm and went directly to where the first year’s would room in once someone else had answered the riddle. When he saw his trunk he flipped it open to get his nightwear. He quickly went to to clean up his face and washed teeth before the crowd would hover him. As he picked on his pillow and sheets, he had been grateful that one of the house elves had packed in one of his softer and favorite quilts that his mother had bought him a few years ago. Its clean fragrance had eased his nostrils and body when he wrapped it around him. 

With small mercies, he fell asleep quickly after that.

It seemed like it had been a good idea at the time; but naturally it all went horribly. Seeing that when Draco had found the courage to open his mouth, he still didn’t know what to say, let alone how to move forward. He had been taught of course by his parents on how to maintain a high head, but what changed over the course from then to now had been the tie that he was now sporting. A bronze and blue striped tie said it all as he didn’t go along with his jacket or waistcoat. During breakfast, he had to follow a couple of the older crowds with his bag all packed and ready after his Head of House had their schedules already passed or pinned at the billboard at the center of their dorm. 

He had thought that he maintained a friendly face, but given that his last name had been, well, known by the majority of the magical families there had been already a sea of unease that went and punched the inside of his stomach. Draco hadn’t really thought about his wording, but again, that had been the issue. He had been overwhelmed, still crossed at his sorting that when he had been bumped and his book bag fell he let out a sneer. One that he had been taught by his own father. It didn’t go so well for him that he lost a couple of points when the Gryffindor prefect and his own, Penelope Clearwater, had caught his side comment. 

That infraction of points didn't sit well with his housemates. 

Neither did it fly when he had walked to his first class and had to think back on how much he had to keep to himself. From the threat of expulsion, and then from having to write his letter to his parents about his housing had made it almost seem like he had forgotten one crucial part of not being in Slytherin.

Muggleborns.

They had invaded the rest of houses unlike how very little of their numbers had managed to wiggle into his family’s. Once he had eaten with and had to participate with in class, did he note the complains that ranged with their studying materials, to the electronics that could help better their education and then, to the modern literature and pop culture that he couldn't comprehend when a few students debated on folklore and what was actually correct. His own father had never let him out of his sight when they had traveled to some cities, or had given him much time to think about their magical history that didn’t spin the wheel of bloodstatus being very important. But now, with him alone for the next seven years, he had seen that his views were unpopular.

Ravenclaw had a tendency to reach out many muggleborns (as well Hufflepuff) that it had shown that his tongue, and much of his limited posh and ‘git-like’ personality would not be kindly accepted. Mainly, it had come from another Ravenclaw housemate, Hermione Granger. Even without adding on to her bossy appearance, Draco knew that she would be a challenge given that she read every single book that she could afford (which didn’t compare to his own) and had made many citations and questions in many volumes of spiral notebooks that many muggleborns loved to bring along to school.

Yes, there had been few that could see his opinions having few merits, but it had been plainly agreed (and by the points he had once again lost) had made Draco see that he knew very little of the muggle world.

It had hurt his pride. Wounded his hard won smarts since he had been tutored before coming to Hogwarts. But most importantly when all his classes were over and when he couldn’t face lunch, Draco had to think back of what his father taught him. He took one loose leaf paper and a quill and made his first draft. By dinner, he had almost all what he wanted outlined, spell checked before beginning again with another sheet.

Next morning, and having still been left alone for most of the beginning of the day, Draco sent his letter by lunch when he couldn't longer hold the letter inside his textbooks.

He didn’t know when the letter had been opened. But he did know when the reply came. It had taken a whole week of him checking for his owl’s return. To then having been abandoned by a few of his peers that should have been his housemates. Then, to having to listen to his own house gossip about Potter’s placement once again because apparently the wizarding world had learned about his House by an anonymous tip by a student. It had been a messy turnout with Potter still looking rather green and pale with the owls coming over to judge an eleven-year-old’s nonexistent chance of picking his schooling.

A part of him wanted to laugh at the misery that Potter was given. Then another weaker part of him had wanted to burn all the Howlers that came his way.

It had been a transition that Draco still couldn’t faithfully understand. Because, as far as he knew, Potter and himself had been walking in a different line (of upbringing) that still resulted in them have the same issues of being marked off in the wrong House. It would be later, when they could talk to each other in a civil manner, and the all amonosity had been mostly cleared between them that Potter had told him about his chat with the Sorting Hat. Of where he thought he should have been placed in after so many people told him where they expected him to continue a legacy he had never heard of until he had been placed into the world of magic.

Obviously, when they had reached that part of their friendship, Potter and Draco would have laughed it off. After all it hadn't been hard to see that their eleven-year old counterparts were idiotic and too naive.

But when he was still very new to his House, and Potter was working, or rather, ignoring a good portion of his problems, they didn’t talk to each other. Maybe in a different world if Draco was in Slytherin they could have chatted up. They would have been housemates, so of course they would have made time to talk it out since his godfather like all Slytherins knew the importance of saving their faces when they were all outside of their sanctuary, in that scenario, the Slytherin common room. 

It hadn't been like he had time to care about that now.

He just knew that when his homework piled on he had a competition within his house. A literal battle of wits when he had to work on keeping his mouth shut unless he could apply that to answering many questions that his professors gave out since he wanted to win back all the points he lost in his first couple of days when he had to learn and practice his patience. It had been difficult, given who he was before he entered Hogwarts and now having no support that he could of had if he had his father’s glory helping him.

In the back of his head, it didn’t escape him that he had to work a little more in Ravenclaw to gain an audience and applause for his achievements. Or that he had enjoyed how much confidence he gained from building up his own name as the person to ask for help in homework. It had been also another praise, that even if he was still a posh git, he had been rather relatable, if not more social than compared to the muggleborn Granger. She had been smart, but her bookish and bossy personality didn't win her over with many friends.

It had been in that price of information that he had thanked his mother in helping him to know the secrets of how to win over people.

For all his worries finally being realized after his first days of school, he had to now confront the next problem of his. That being, that he had always been a needy child; that had made the transition of always having a house elf ready to pamper him and having his parent’s money ready to wipe his tears away if he was unhappy. Yes, he had grown up a bit when he didn’t always want his mother to fret about him, but Draco could not say that he missed her stroking his head or his father paying for the tours that he loved going with his parents. Being an only child had often made his needs number one.

Now in Hogwarts he was sorely alone. Without his mother’s hums when she worked on one of her embroidery or when he heard his father’s long strides in the hallways before he came back home and came to greet them with a quick pat to his shoulder or head and a kiss for his mother.

Once he had turned eleven and was physically away from his parent's reach, he could see that having peers around his age and from different backgrounds had intrigued him a bit. (Disgusted and or left disconnected Draco’s curiosity had **_still_ **won over his abilities to soak in his new environment.) From the few that had seen how the Malfoys functioned and were kind enough to pity his first few days, it had been its own miracle that he had sucked most of his disdain and terrible moody self behind walls where he could cry all he wanted. 

But he didn't really cry, since Draco’s father had already given him a heads up that he had to quit that streak cold turkey in case someone could call him pathetic. He had felt gutted. Vexed. Yet, he also had been working hard on creating a new round of reliance that his housemates could depend on. In between that, his letter had gone and took over his life. 

He had hastily grabbed his letter from his owl, gave it a treat before it could squawk fiercely before leaving the main hall altogether. At the time, his waistcoat had been smartly ironed and his tie perfectly in place. Then when he reached for a quiet corner near his first class he had sat down a cold desk. The window sill had been partly cracked from its age, but it still had cast enough space for him to bend for the weak morning sun to hit the page. Each letter, sentence and space between paragraphs had been finley measured. 

He could tell that it had been his mother that wrote it. Her Y’s and L’s were often curved staighter than his father’s. They weren’t spherical like most girls' handwriting were when he had looked over his housemate’s notes, but she had a touch of elegance (and her own mark of fierce hinted) that most pureblood wives were rehearsed to imitate. Sort of like the strong fire red wings of a phoenix’s during a dark night as they flashed out openly. 

It had been so odd that her familiar handwriting had softened his already waning eyes. Three fail starts had made it difficult for him to find the right way to sit because each time he felt like he didn't want to know their final answer to his failure of being properly placed in Hogwarts. 

Either way, he forced himself to start again from the top.

_My little dragon,_

_When I first saw your letter..._

He ignored the first warning bell. Then the final after all the remaining late comers had fled the corridors. With that silence Draco had strolled along. There were a few paintings that had questioned him but at the time Draco didn't bother to reply. All he could do was repeat her words under his breath. Catching the tremble of his magic when he reached his tower. 

By the time he reached his bed most of his heart had already hurt from the squeezing it had endured when he read it. 

He could almost call himself delusional when he fixed the letter and placed it under his pillow for safe keeping. His blanket had been folded but as he laid down he didn't bother if he wrinkled his bed as he made a cocoon to huddle in. The rest of the morning could wait for him to catch his breath.

He only knew time passed him when Goldstein was the first to find him. His head had shuffled out from his blanket and the level that the first years were placed had given him a rough estimation that lunch was almost approaching. Funny that Goldstein had volunteered to find then report back to their prefects where Draco had wandered off. His eyes had asked what Draco was doing still in bed, but properly in uniform. He didn't see the letter, but he had been one of the few that had noticed Draco’s departure.

“So. You think you can handle lunch? Or do you want me to let everyone know to back off for a while?”

Another day he would have sneered at him. But for that day, and with the letter still stinging from under his head he answered by drawing inside his blanket. Goldstein gave a tamed nod before closing the door as he ushered a mini band of people outside their dorm.

The letter had remained there for the next day. His clothes were pressed and placed exactly where he liked them and his homework… well, he had made sure to keep his vigor going. It had been a requirement of his since he had taken to maintaining a sense of normalcy. Anything that could show that he was reliable. Or that he could still be the Heir he had been taught to be even if it meant that he had to forge his greatness from a new House. 

His father may have not written anything in the letter, but in his silence and subtext from his mother, he could tell that he had not been pleased. That had ached him dearly. Watching how she had struggled with her response while juggling to subdue his anxiety of being away from home. It had been true that her own family had the reputation and tradition of being housed into Slytherin but the Blacks had also accepted an occasional Ravenclaw. They had their own pedigree of fame, especially when they had enriched their families glory in their careers. Something that barely made him feel welcomed from her attempt to sooth him.

Draco just knew that it would take some time for his father to cool off. To get around the idea that his son would be the first to break tradition. His mother would be there, helping to accept the fact, then to sooth the reunion during the holidays. 

Just like she had often done in her youth when she first met his father and having to learn to be a wife of a Malfoy.

All he had to do was keep his grades up, befriend the crowd that his father would later approve of and to get some control again with Slytherin. He wouldn't have the same influence when compared to those that were housed there but Draco knew that their ties would still be valuable in the long run. The higher society that his parents grew up in demanded that he keep his toes inside it whether his tie was blue and bronze or green and silver.

Starting with, Goldstein. His family was filled with a couple of notable people that had interacted with his before. So, it had seemed like an easy transition for him to get back into making his allies. He would also have to thank Goldstein for letting him have the dorm room when he could have left him at the mercy of nosy questions. Because he could have let Draco be vulnerable in a public way, but he hadn’t. It had made him want to pick up the pieces from his sorrows and pull them back inside his body faster. If only to bring forth a new normal for himself.

His acquaintances from his childhood had been scarce as of late. Not entirely shocking. He would have been the same if it had happened to somebody else.

Although since it had been his Draco had worked slowly with his time. To spend his time adjusting and finding how the school worked within. Besides Potter’s fame and his own troubles most of the year had been drowning in a balanced facade.

By the time October was ending, he had thought he had everything in the basic level up to par for a Malfoy. 

It didn't predict, however, that their group would be lodged with Granger once he was placed as her potion's partner. While it could have been worse it didn't bother him (as much) when her muggleborn background made it impossible to forget when she came with a fury of questions he couldn't always answer. Oh he knew that one of his eyes twitched or that he had to hold his tongue a lot during their ‘discussions’ but he could say that he never purposely made her cry. (Unlike another git, was left unsaid.)

When they first had gotten paired Draco and Granger had both been in principle very organized individuals. Each new more or less where the ingredients were stored, how to maintain their tools and had fairly researched beforehand their lectures. In a way, they had an ideal partnership seeing that they knew how to work together when they both loved to get full points in all assignments. His godfather had seen it when Draco and Granger had worked in precision. Though that didn’t mean that they got along right away.

Two months of competition didn’t bore much in friendly games from each other. They both had their own goals to achieve and in their communications it had forced for Draco to see that his parents were not exactly correct with their assessments when it came to Granger. He hated how he couldn’t call her an idiot, yes she could be ignorant about the wizarding world, but that didn’t mean she would remain like that forever. One of her permanent pastimes meant that she loved learning practically everything that was accessible for her. It made sense why she belonged in the House of the wit, the creative and logical. 

As for him, well Draco could say that ever since the two month passed he had been getting used to the Tower. For appreciating that the astronomy class was so close to his own dorm.

The emblem of the Ravenclaw from his cloak could still at times make him homesick because he had remembered the many times he had worn his father’s Slytherin scarf when he had been younger, but when he had also did start to appreciate that he had his own memories when he wandered inside his dorm. 

That and the library that his House contained had another level of awe from the one his manor had collected. It had books that his grandfather and father would have banned on sight if they knew the origins of them. It had also opened a new trouble with his sentiments of his childhood as he had stretched his patience when he made a whole list of all his old favorites while Granger had compiled with her own. He didn’t know at the time, but when they had their discussions other people had heard them and made a whole list for others to create a book club of sorts that followed that kind of thinking. New studies were made. Professors of different backgrounds became lively too.

It had been a fun accident for a lot of bookworms. Something he never thought he would have been able to connect since he had few to talk with. He never knew when exactly he had stopped referring Granger as pathetic from inside his head. Or when he had started to like how efficient and diligent she could become when they had watched their discussions become a format that many Ravenclaws and friends-alike came around to bring a new light for their literature, and other media when it came to the wizarding world and muggle. Obviously, it had been a big swing for the Muggles studies and their arts professors that helped arranged classrooms to help them all bring films and books to be presented.

The very first big one would be held on the day before Halloween since they didn’t want it to interfere with the feast. He had been talking to Goldstein and Granger in the morning when he remembered that a couple of classes had been rescheduled and rearranged. He didn’t remember the reason why, but during charms, instead of Hufflepuffs they would be seated along with Slytherins.

The lesson hadn’t been the main worry for him. With little interventions Draco had seen Goldstein grow persuasive but still genuinely kind to his emotions. Granger, as bossy as she could be had been very vocal that they were more than acquaintances at that point. Meaning he could spill all his problems to her and it wouldn't dent much of her friendliness that she reserved for him. Not that he had felt that comfortable yet.

He couldn’t forget the few letters that he had going with his mother. Each had been long on his part, while hers had been cut by paragraph. Almost as if she had been on a time crunch that didn’t give her a lot of breaks for her to tell him how the distance had been choking them all. It hadn't been like he had been completely free from tears, in each response he had tucked them under his pillow for the first week before he would retire them inside a locked chest that he had been given on his seventh birthday. It would regain another bruise for his heart when he would look at his reflection.

(The blue and bronze around his neck. The green and silver that didn’t fit when he walked passed Potter.)

During charms, it had started routinely. Goldstein and his lot had been had welcomed him. Padma Patil, the only twin that he would speak to unless he wanted to poke about divination with the other, would sit around Granger since they had a couple of studying habits that coexisted with each other. In their side it had been structured in harmony. That is, until their Head of House had wanted to change it up by mixing both houses for the duration of the class. Draco could have dealt with that, but he had not liked how Weasley and Potter were placed closer to him. 

Granger, the only one that didn’t mind being around those two had been left to deal with Weasley’s fangs. 

Draco should have listened closer. Should have prevented himself from closing most of his mind because he couldn't stop staring at that ungrateful Potter when he had tugged off most of his tie from his uniform. It had been unfair that Draco had to admit defeat that the green and silver had complimented Potter’s hair and eyes. That somehow without Potter doing much he had embedded some of the qualities that Slytherin was known for. It had been his sharp mouth that could cut some of his first bullies during his first month that had been evident. Then, to the way he could be crafty when his godfather had told him during tea breaks that Potter had a way of building a shield for himself and Weasley. 

Few other Slytherins had welcomed him behind doors and in the open. His blood, and fame had been outstanding in the age after the war. It only made sense for anyone that wanted to contain favorable connections that they would be neutral, if not open to what Potter would perform in Hogwarts and soon after. Draco would have done the same too if he had that option.

Now, with them having so little interactions, Draco didn't know what he would have done. To a degree he saw that there had been an unspoken curiosity that had veil over him every time someone had mentioned Potter. Whether in passing or by extension being placed into a class during their flying sessions.

But that still hadn't stopped him from flying into a muddle of questions when he saw Granger leave the room so quickly. Patil had worked quicker by raising her voice in a way that most girls knew from experience. She had done her best to yell at the red head before giving Draco a solid eye contact for him to get his act together. She had fled from the same direction that Granger went leaving him to see how ruffled Weasley had been at the attention while Potter had been awkwardly shaking his head. They shared a glance before Draco was pulled by Goldstein to follow Patil.

He at the time didn’t know why he allowed for himself to be dragged around the corridors. Or why he didn’t get as annoyed as he could have been. The only explanation that made sense was that if Granger cried it would only feel like a soggy parchment that had been left in the rain; utterly ruined and useless by the time it dried. He had no memory of his mother crying, sniffing here and there when she was ill, yes, but for the most part, he only seen a couple of girls crying when they had been younglings who were still new to their lessons. He could tell though that when Granger had Patil as comfort he could still hear both girls talking about how horrible boys were. 

Goldstein and Boot had gave him a shrug that meant: what can you do, while commenting that they thought Granger was a lovely girl. The door had been completely closed (as it should) but they had knocked and let Granger and Patil know that their little band had huddled there. Two whole months could do that to some children. Especially when Goldstein and Patil made it practically seamless to build a bridge for people like himself and Granger to come together as acquaintances (friends). 

That didn’t mean that he had been fully capable of speaking out loud to ensure that Granger was ‘lovely’, he hadn’t repulsed by her by any means, but Draco couldn’t exactly say that he was comfortable that his views were starting to expand in areas that he knew would not be fully welcomed back to his manor. It had been an inappropriate time to have that kind of epiphany. To suddenly find himself feeling just as small and unwelcome like Granger. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even when he had cleared his throat. It didn’t help him to find his words.

He just knew that when they mostly left to get Granger some treats that his life became a little bit more complicated when he heard of the troll incident from the girls lavatory later that day.

The plain shirt and tie had been bright enough for him to feel so alienated again. It didn’t make sense. He thought that he had gotten used to the colors. November had been working its way again in what could only be described as Granger in a montage of talking about Weasley and Potter non-stop. It hadn’t been like they had been her first friends. Patil had clung closer after that near death experience, and Draco had become... well, he had hated how Granger had started to put her attention somewhere else from their book discussions. Or that she had started to partake in bringing Potter and Weasley into their homework study groups.

He never in the past had issues in bringing forth others that could pull their weight when it came to their homework, he could see the benefits of having a place to discuss their answers, but what he couldn’t bother to engage were slackers. Hence, when Weasley and Potter showed signs that didn’t fly with him he had taken Granger aside and told her that he would be open to keep studying with her but when she didn’t bring along those two. Nothing against Slytherins in general. (He had preferred some of their work ethics.)

However, Draco couldn’t yet say that he knew how to talk to a Weasley without planting a sneer without meaning to. Maybe one of the older ones that was smitten and had been going steady with Clearwater. But the rest? No. Definitely not. He had heard of the painstaking madness that the other two twins could create from their pranks alone then from being around their vicinity. 

What didn’t help was that when Granger had an idea, she loved to work on it for as long as she was able. That had enfolded for her to bring him closer to Potter and Weasley. Between their fragile connection Draco didn’t know why he had been half relieved when she still maintained their usual hours. Before he would have scoffed and had been mortified that he had been spending so much time with a muggleborn as well to so many halfbloods that did not agree with the way he was raised. It had been a new way of living for sure. That had been the price though since he had kept waking up as a Ravenclaw. So many people would be opinionated and had lots of discussions on many topics.

He couldn’t escape one day without knowing or seeing many of his house mates having experiments lying around the common room or having a monthly board that had planned out activities that allowed them that type of stimulation to expand their need for knowledge. 

Draco could still remember when he first heard of all the vastness of judgement placed onto his shoulders. To see how much of the world he had yet to see for himself as many of his housemates had colorful backgrounds too. His Head of House had been one great example when he came around to give his own stories. When he laughed freely with them, it had hurt him. 

Because Draco knew; his father would have never approved of him listening to their stories. 

And that had been one of the signs that he didn’t want to acknowledge yet, not when he still loved his family and still wanted to make them proud of him. Being eleven and having to work out what and where he stood from them had been hard enough without adding magic into the equation.

Trust Granger to meddle and have him pinned by Potter’s green eyes when he had sat down in the library and listen to the hushed conversation of the weird coincidence he had experienced at the bank when compared to the newspaper. Luck and trouble had seemed to work in few puffs since he had been looped in by Granger. Goldstein had listened too when he hadn’t been busy with his own life and Patil too when she didn’t entertain her sister. Other than that Draco knew that when he saw the gleam from Grangers’ eyes didn’t dissolve after finding what had been locked in that third level he had to stop himself from shoving Granger away that that disastrous duo since they had a way of making her think she was invincible just because she read as much as she memorized a lot of books.

It was plain horrible for his health each time she caved and went with them, leaving Draco again and again in his own cocoon of confusion as to why he cared at all.

He didn’t know what to do. At first he thought it was affordable for him to sink to the floor. Then, he had to keep reminding himself that while he had an audience he could not fall down. A Malfoy could not look weak. 

The letter had been pushed to his hands in breakfast. Many of his housemates had already been getting ready to pack for the holidays that Draco should have seen this coming. From the correspondence that he had with his mother, Draco had been coming back to this soft intrusion where his memories and his thoughts were getting mixed like a bad potion. That had been a sign too when he traced her handwriting. In the open his eyes had casted down to the tip of the corner that was bent. Overall, the letter had fared well with the cold ice air, and from the talons from his owl’s delivery. 

He didn’t dare open it yet.

Nothing good came when he left the public a nice welcoming gift of his emotions sprouting in the open. Instead he had dropped a bacon slice to his owl and ordered it to rest while he prepared his own reply for later. His owl gave a long stare before gobbling his treat, then swiftly and with the grace only Malfoy owls were trained and bred to do flapped away.

Taking a last look at his table and then the next one, he couldn’t help sense someone else’s eyes on him. He didn’t say anything to Goldstein or Granger when they spotted him alone in his usual spot. What exactly could he could say when Potter’s green and silver tie taunted him as they crossed paths after finishing his breakfast?

That unnamed sensation had been bothering him though; it had an abrasive way that made him lean forward then back from his seat. Not that it helped. Draco couldn’t escape from it.

He knew that.

And it had been frustrating that in a way, it hadn’t even mattered. It all came back to the point where he had become somewhat used to the fact that they sat in different tables and had been somewhat acquainted within their social circles by that point of the year, but Draco still couldn't hide his feelings completely. That had cost him.

Oh he knew that it should have been fixed by then. To have a sense of security when compared to his first weeks of disappointment. However, when his eyes traveled back to Potter nothing could have prepared him at how intense and green they were. That somehow and somewhere Granger was laughing at how Draco lost his way of words. He could shout at him. He could back away (and he should have), but what he had done was so much worse. 

Draco had let Potter think that they had a shot of being friends.

That had been a truly awful mistake. It had burned his palm when they clasped together when they eventually came together to say so, if awkwardly. He had wanted to barf when Potter had smiled tentatively at him then. Draco didn’t ruin the mood though, he instead had nodded at him, with less grace than he was known for, before slowly walking next to him before they separated for class.

He couldn’t even say that he had an empty stomach, it had betrayed him from the sheer tenacity that dared to grip from his ribs. They had poked out in sharp jabs like the knives that were stacked and polished from one of the many unused rooms from his manor held, (his mother once told him that they were presents from his aunt). It hadn’t been like they sliced him open, but it had felt like they did a good bloody job at reminding him how uncomfortable he was. His magic just knew how special Potter was, how Draco couldn’t walk away from him and once they shook hands. Malfoys tended to stick along for a good portion as their loyalties could handle, and for Draco it had been the same. Something had told him to stay there.

To watch how Potter was leading his own two feet forward and having his crooked tie stick out from his waistcoat. Honestly, how did a boy like himself that remained inside Slytherin not yet learn how to properly maintain his appearance? Hadn’t anyone approached him yet? He had wanted to open his mouth to offer his assistance to straighten it out. But in the end he had steered away from that thought. He couldn’t afford anymore distractions. The Holidays were approaching fast.

His father and mother would be at the train station to pick him up. His gifts that he had been able to order were in progress. While Potter… Draco had wanted Granger to stop reminding him that something awful had attached itself to him each time he thought about The-Boy-Who-Lived. There were more important things to discuss, to plan than having them go back to how Potter was becoming chummy with his lot.

He had to give credit to him in that regard when Weasley had posed a challenge to him with chest, alongside with Boot. While Potter could entertain Patil and Granger in other topics that he hadn’t bothered to look into yet. He had to think a little bit more and tune out the rest of the world when he played either of them. That had been something neither Weasley and himself would like to admit out loud all the time, and he couldn’t help but also notice how Potter, Patil and Granger were all smug to see him and Weasley ‘bond’ without reacting by bringing in their talons and fangs respectively. He wouldn’t humor them that easily.

Not when he had been working on how to address his time with the first game coming up. Technically it had nothing to do with him, but it had been a game that was semi important to his previous thoughts when the world had made better sense. Or to his utter compliance, when he had been one hundred percent proud of his family history. It hadn’t been like he didn’t like being known as a Malfoy or had connections to the overall branch of the House of Black, but once Hogwarts came into the picture he had wondered what his future would shape into. At what he would allow to foster into his veins as he walked out of his dorm. 

The quidditch game for silly business that a child could come up with had shown him that he still loved the sport. It would pain him a bit more if the game had centered between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but for now he would watch Weasley squirm and take notes as he dealt with it as he showed Potter the rules. The House spirits were common around, but when the official games it only drove how exclusive and may be addictive it was to have pride in one's second home. 

Soon enough he would deal with it. But for now he would enclose his victory on the board in front of him. 

“Checkmate! Weasley.”

“AH! Re-match Malfoy!”

Somehow it had become easier to dwell on the past, when he had been pushed and molded into certain ideals, and now with this particular house and people offering him new insights, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how much he could learn when his seven years were over. What he could have ended up if the hat gave up and placed him in Slytherin like he originally wanted. He didn’t know why he had becoming restrained by his tongue. Or why he had been thinking too much about his existence.

He didn’t want it to sound like he never thought about it before, but when he had become Ravenclaw if felt like all his thoughts possessed him into a new level. One that had clawed up from the base of his stomach and up to the screeching halt of his brain and sometimes, out of his lips. In private notes to himself he had asked himself many times why he stayed where he placed himself. Why he had given in one essence and watched how he lived in Hogwarts. It hadn’t been like he was a paid professor to know all about what life encompassed.

Draco Malfoy simply just felt too odd for an eleven-year old. 

It hadn’t been like he loved to be completely different. There were moments when it paid to be unknown and unseen. Tracks of information and safety could be accounted for during those tiring times. 

Especially when it came to the holidays. After the whole fiasco of his godfather being accused of harming Potter and then the break giving the very distance that they all needed Draco had been half heartedly thankful for the distraction. He didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that when Granger didn’t take his side immediately it had hurt. Sure, he could see that there was a distrust between him and Weasley, and Potter had a knack of sticking close to his best mate, but Granger. 

_But Granger_!

He had been far too pleased that when he had the chance he had left straight to the train and locked himself in an empty room for him to let his magic melt off his skin. That it may have been too childish for him to dive into a tantrum, but oh Merlin, did that ease his anxiety when he had to reopen it to get a snack from the trolley lady. It had not been a habit he wanted to keep. And when it all came down, and the walls that he usually maintained had briefly shattered, he hated how Goldstien along with Boot, Patil and lastly, Granger were outside waiting for him after he had readjusted his collar and waistcoat. Nothing went hidden when Goldstien and Boot sat down on each side of him. Or when Patil had pushed Granger inside the train cart.

Draco didn’t like remembering how his cheeks were still stemmed from his fit or that Granger’s wobby lips had done it for him. Merlin knew he couldn’t handle when someone cried. (It had been a curse that he grew up to be a sympathizer crier when his eyes had swelled up with a coat of unshed tears.) He could only say that when the train came to a full stop he hadn’t been a chance to clean his whole nose perfectly before Granger and Paitl moved in to give a shared (and very tight) hugs. Boot and Goldstein patted him as they grabbed their holiday bags in the midst. It had been unfair how his hair had been tussled in the aftermath.

And it had only been his mother’s wand that had been capable to brush it away from his forehead and kiss him just as quickly. Her hands had been half warm and half cold from waiting for him. But they still had been soaked with the love he had missed sorely when she placed him to her side as his father did the same with with a little coldness he expected back in September as they went back home. 

When he reached his door, and only after he had been told to clean his face again he heard it again: his heart bursting and poking out of his chest.

August and December were two different months. With two different feelings that had filled his body when he walked inside. How funny. How tragic! The Malfoy manor technically didn’t change when it came down to the physical walls or decorations unless a ball or other social gathering was made, but Draco had felt his home feel less warm. Almost like he had become a cousin that was visiting from another country.

That had shaken his legs when he had turned on the sink and saw the water flush and prickle the pink skin from his cheeks and eyes. His silver eyes had clashed with the coloring he had going on now. He knew it wouldn’t come down unless he had ice settled on his flushed areas. 

With a snap of his fingers, he got what he needed.

But it didn’t hide how utterly silent his home was and after a few months of sharing a dorm and eating in a full castle, Draco could not hide the fact that he wished he had stayed back there. Even if it meant that he had to interact with Weasley and Potter.

It would be a thousand times better than feeling the looks he received by his house elves and his parents. 

He wasn’t a complete muggle-lover. He didn’t have shame for being a Malfoy either. But it was getting harder to be himself. To be Draco Malfoy when Ravenclaw had done a kindness for him the longer he slept there. And his father knew that when they all ate together.

The only saving grace was his mother when she still held him and kissed his forehead goodbye after Christmas. The distance would help them, she said, and the new year would be stress free if he went back to where some of his friends were. Her encouragement to maintain his socialbilties had been why he left the manor. Why a part of his father did show how guilty he was to be half disappointed by his son, and then ashamed at the distance he created in the first place when a hat had disrupted their peace when Draco wore the wrong uniform.

They were all human. They all made mistakes and did their own versions of moving on (if they had that capacity), and for the current Malfoy family they did that; they each went through the motions of getting clearer pictures of their futures.

Draco’s only came in riddles and foreshadows that didn’t exactly warm him up when he had been younger and prone to anger. No. eleven-year-olds didn’t always have the time or want to waste it by looking underneath all the bullshit of growing up and getting more responsibilities than usual because they, in this case, lived in a world where most of the adults in their lives couldn't move on. It had annoyed then, pissed him off really good when he watched the world he knew grow less tolerant. But that would be another story when he had reached his mid-teens and another war came too soon.

For the time when he was still new with Hogwarts and before he knew what it meant to be associated by Potter Malfoy had been picked up by his godfather. A quick trip later from the Floo and he had been whisked off to the great hall and ate his first real warm meal again since he started to associate a welcomeness in Hogwarts that his manor never had. The events they held didn’t count, since they had an edge of fakeness in it.

Again, he didn’t know why he did it.

But when Potter had been the first to sit by him, and the Christmas tree was still lit alongside the charmed snowflakes falling above them Draco couldn’t bring himself to yell at him. It hadn't been like Granger when she apologized in the train but with Potter it had almost been hard to fully be angry with him, especially when he knew that Weasley was closer to him while he and Potter were in this weird place of being acquaintances-almost friends since they shook hands. Between then and now it's hadn't as easy to talk to each other. They had started smaller then. With watchful eyes gleaming when Potter screwed up during their study club or when Draco went on to help in potions since Weasley listened better at the hands of Patil and Granger. But now, with Weasleys having Christmas with his Gryffindor family it left Potter in a tight spot of nerves.

Something that came and was hard to explain to someone that knew only love like Weasley did.

The ugly jumper he had been sporting almost made him talk first, but when he recognized the work matching the Weasley bunch he kept his mouth closed in fear of saying the wrong thing. 

Potter still caught it. His eyebrows scrunched up a bit, then like he often did, he opened his mouth first. “How was your Christmas?”

“Fine.” His voice had been tight at the last syllable. “I see you were busy in the snow.” 

It maybe had been a few hours but Draco’s nose had caught the smell of dried snow from his clothes and hair. His fingers and knuckles hadn't been that protected from the elements either as they were a bit raw from the cold. The same could be said from his hair, it had the quality of melted snow that hadn't been dried all the way as it stood up more than usual. Kind-of with the consistency when Potter took a morning shower and let his hair dry naturally and in front of the fire or sun. 

He watched how Potter smile a bit, if unsure on how to go about with a conversation with only one person like Draco while the rest of the people had mingled slightly away from them. They didn't have a complete table to themselves or the best privacy, given that his godfather was eating in the open, but it had enough room for Potter to roll his shoulders. His glasses dropped to the tip of his nose as he curled his closer to face him.

“It was nice.” Genuine. It sounded so nice to hear that type of niceness come out from him. “I never really had umm… time to be out on the snow for some games.”

“That's great.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

That hadn't been the most enlightening reply he gave in history, he knew that, but what Malfoy hadn't picked up yet that was that Potter had told him a little about his past. A small bit that would eventually expand when they got used to each other and their talks. Most of the time they had bickered; eleven-year-olds were better at that department ergo him and Weasley, but when it came to Potter Draco had often carried his worries when he felt Potter nearby. 

Obviously he never disclosed that information to Granger or Patil because he knew what it could spring to. Girls often loved to skip and mix their fantasies and reality with the books and magazines they've read. He wouldn't be that daft to give them that type of material.

He just wished he knew beforehand that Goldstein and Boots had been converted by the girls when he mentioned the swirls of butterflies that came up when regarding Potter.

Help didn't come quickly for him. As New Years came and went and his letters from Goldstein and Boot proved to be useless, Draco could safely say that he hadn't counted for Potter to be asking for him to hangout during their break. Weasley had started to spend more time with his family understandably that Draco stepped up when he found the pitifulness that Potter could contain when he was left alone. But it had been increasingly difficult for his palms to stop getting clammy when he accepted for his time to be pressed with the images of Potter sitting or walking beside him.

There never had been a reason to be completely nervous. Yet as the snow continued to fall and Potter scoping his time with Draco he found that he liked it when their shoulders touched. That when they didn't go off a debate, it had become peaceful to walk past the frozen Black Lake as their owls flown together above their heads.

It had made him feel better. Light like the snowflakes that melted on his clothes. But at the same time, heavy like in the layers that helped the lake stay solid throughout the winter season.

From the letters Goldstein and Boot made it sound cheesy. Unoriginal. And completely off based to what it really was.

And it wasn't mushy. He knew that it had been more than that. He just couldn't place it in the right sequence when he looked at the snowy weather flushing and biting Potter’s exposed nose and how it iced his glasses. Or that the coldness from outside made it more appealing to share time to drink hot drinks together by a fire from his Tower. (And that had been another memory of seeing Potter inside his common room and taking in the couches that were emptier than usual.)

He didn’t read as many books as he planned before, but it had been a good enough holiday when he listened to the crack of wood burning from the fireplaces. The mugs would be refilled as often as the elves wished to spoil them, while Draco would file the images of their scarfs coming in handy and him sharing his gloves when he kept seeing how much Potter loved touching the snow. Yes, they did asked for permission to fly, and while they did have a restricting height limit the rest of the time that they had been airborne it had been worth the glares that his godfather had when Flitwick and the other residing professors had allowed them the reign in the quidditch field.

It may have been a late Christmas treat but it had been a nice way to going about the new year when they were on the air. Back in June, Draco had been inflicted with his worries, but in this, where his heart was soaring he had seen how much he loved the sensation that Hogwarts could give him. It had been liberating when he had another person there. Flying. Being alive. Perfound for some if he had to keep thinking about it, nonetheless, it had become a peice for history when he had glided with the still air. When the snow had momentarily stopped as it gave him a perfect view of white naked trees and white grounds in mounts of layers.

He could perfectly see Potter in his own broom that the school had stored as he made lazy circles. His smile had practically taken over his face (where the scarf didn’t try its best to keep him warm). And that’s when it really came. 

The suddenness of rushed emotions. Tumbling down his blood felt stung by the true innocence that Potter radiated. It had happened like a snap of his fingers. 

So much that Potter had noticed how silent Draco was when he drifted and drifted to where the air was picking up. To have a current fan over his loose hair that hadn’t been covered by his winter hat.

 _It wasn't weird to have flushed cheeks when looking at someone you somewhat knew. Right_? 

Draco didn't know the answer to that. It hadn't been like he asked a portrait later when they went to their dorms to wash up before their next meal would start. It had been his idea since the snow that had melted onto their layers had been starting to stick to his limbs. He knew that with the break slowly coming to close that he would make sure to find himself centered back when the term started. Which meant that he needed to stop fooling around and get his answers as quick as possible without losing his mind in the process. Meaning that it wouldn’t be ideal to only gain another crowd to watch him crash and burn from his confusion. They were after all, worse gossips than the teenagers that had been a little bit older than him.

It had been something that he learned as he watched and heard the school vine of information become polluted. 

It had its uses, but it also had a way to become toxic. It also had to do with the fact that they, the portraits could travel all over the castle didn't help either when he had been in the middle of his quest. Draco wouldn’t subject himself into that horror. 

Not when his pride was becoming steady. Or that he was in the middle of going through a transition that was scary as his letters to his mother had been short. Few words between them had cemented that his father, while still one of the most important people in his life, was trying to get over September it seemed like it had been barely contained. Just enough for his mother to smolder his father with her sweet words. One more break, one more instance of him shining in his house and it could happen. His father could start talking to him without it feeling like he was a complete joke. That had been why Potter’s addition hadn’t been welcomed that much. 

What could Draco do at that point? When he had been painstakingly dividing his hours for a boy that had a complicated life when it came to being housed in a place that Draco wanted. To being famous but being alienated by most of his peers that included some professors. He didn’t know why he was caring more. Why it had been become a new note for him to pick apart while he was catering to his own when his father and mother tipped off into his skull.

Legacies were quite awful to think about, to have to be conscious of it the second there is a knowledge of it, that it had a way to invade one’s personal soul. Such troublesome textures that had botched his skin. It had made his heart race. Forced him to decrease the amount of times he went halfway to Pomfrey’s station because he knew that he had to stop being so weak. His father had already expressed his displeasure back in September, he didn’t need to keep on giving him anymore examples of him being insufficient with his time.

Yet there he was, wasting time and having too many thoughts clogging him. The fact that they had stuck around had made him inclined to believe that his self-esteem was low. Embarrassing since he knew how it used to feel when he had the world working seamlessly before.

He couldn’t fully wean off the image of them though; that Potter when Weasley was off doing whatever he was doing had been putting himself in close quarters with him. The trips in the library hadn’t all been for the purpose of enjoying each other’s company, Granger had already sent him an explanation when he asked. In the list of baffling things he did for Potter, it continued when he went through multiple volumes in hopes for finding one name: Nicolas Flamel; and hadn't that been lovely to go through some musty collections as he watched Potter’s hair fall down and hide his face.

He had been thankful that it had been Granger that started revising her notes when he lent his help because he knew that any new information that he could have gained would have been lost when he had watched how unsettled he was to sit at the same table as Potter the longer they kept talking. That a part of him was coming too familiar at the thick lines that Potter had when he wrote on whatever scratch of paper he had with him. They were crooked, lopped in some sections and very personal than compared to Draco’s when as he had years of practice to trim the unnecessary ink layers. He often kept them thin. And in cursive in formal affairs, unless he didn’t need to. 

And in this session when he had dwindling days before him, Draco didn’t know what else to do with the information he had, regarding Flamel and his other baffling situation.

It wouldn’t be fair to say that he hated Weasley. Months ago, he wouldn’t have had an issue of showing his dislike, but after the many times he had gotten used to their chest games it had unwillingly forced him to confront his feelings regarding Weasley. Thus, the dilemma of having to call him a barely concealed acquaintance, they had opposing views, but when Quidditch and wizard’s chest was put onto the table they both could chat for hours. So long as, they had others in the ring to help smooth the rough edges that would eventually come along. Potter, being the one that was new but very willing to listen about Quidditch was perfect to remain in the middle, then when it came to chest it had been Goldstein and Patil that could help start warming their toes in being in the same rooms for periods of their free time that didn’t include the study sessions.

Again it had been Granger that rung Boot and Patil to force him to stay in their sessions when it included Weasley and Potter. 

That had been what forced him to see that by Winter, his own schedule was brewing into another leaf. It had been woven like the hand-made mittens that he had gotten when the term was freshly there. When he noticed that far away look appearing with Potter as he had whispered to Weasley about a mirror he found a while ago. He didn’t find much information about it until later, but at the time Draco just knew that the holidays had brought old pains and sorrows that were vastly different than his own. Did he feel guilty about still having two parents?

Yes. 

Did he feel awful that he could still be able to reconnect with them verses Potter?

Um—yeah. Definitely. It had pushed him down and made him aware of his own whining when Potter was nearby. He couldn’t say that he was patient or saint like all the time, but Draco did hope that his guilt would shut it. If only, to be toned down while he went about his business.

He knew that he would need all the slow days when the hours dragged because something had told him that when Potter was there as an influence, a storm was likely to catch whiff. 

And he was right about it.

“Please, don’t say it.” He wanted to pinch his nose, back away and ask for a very strong tea and go to sleep. First he would need to get away from Granger, Weasley and Potter. Then he would walk all the way up the Tower...he would then—

“Draco.” Granger was being too friendly calling him by his name. “You know how I feel about rules in general, but this is Hagrid we’re talking about.” 

“And?” He couldn’t help but taste his annoyance when he responded. “He’s a worker here, isn’t he? He should know that it’s _illegal_ to have a dragon.”

Potter was the next to step as he pressed a hand to Granger’s shoulder. His green eyes were sharp, almost pleading when he zeroed on him. It had been hard to look away from him. 

“We’re just asking you to distract Clearwater long enough that I can slip in with Norbert to the Astronomy Tower. You don’t have to be actively involved with this.”

He pinched his nose now. His skin was feeling hot as he ran through so many scenarios as his arms sprinkled with a new round of anxiety since he knew at some capacity he would not like knowing that Granger was currently running with two idiots that somehow made it to Slytherin. 

_I don’t like this at all_. Draco huffed before squeezing his eyes shut hard. He let the pain momentarily slide over his eyes, then veins. Then, when he opened his eyes and the sharp dots of color popping out made Potter’s green even more vibrant. He didn’t like how pleased Granger and Potter when he said he would help them. Neither when Granger collided with a thousand thank-yous and a fierce hug that were a rarity from his mother. 

It wasn’t fair that those troublesome lot had been making it harder for Draco to remain in tacked from his previous self. 

He already wasn’t resembling the boy that was ten and had been waiting eagerly for his Hogwarts letter.

Goldstein had a way of waking up with tidy hair and perfect smile ready. No awful curls (like his hair rebelled), no pillow indents that were harsh red on cheeks (like Boot) and his happy personality was too bright that Patil sometimes threatened to throttle him if he whistled at her direction as she slowly ate her breakfast. It had been a routine in the mornings now that it had been odd to see the great hall and seeing Granger missing. 

She had gotten along with Boot when it came to the pillow attacks they had for ruining their cheeks, but she had been an early riser so, she had plenty of practice of walking with Goldstein since they were morning people in general. 

But, what Draco had wanted to focus on was the fact that Granger had not been sitting down at their table. Patil and Boot had been filling their plates and Goldstein had been already revising his outline for a paper due next week. When he sat down it went unsaid that he had questions as a hush of upper level housemates were talking about the detention. It hadn’t been like they shunned him, or that he was going to immediately turn his back on Granger on principal, but it had shown that Ravenclaws _did_ in fact not like the deduction of points that he and Granger added. 

While he didn’t lose too many like Granger, but it had been common knowledge that he had known to some degree about what they had planned in the Astronomy Tower. He had denied a few inclusions to that party, but his Head of House had been thankfully nice to his involvement since he used his time with Clearwater with legitimate concerns. Nobody could really reject his time like that, since he had been inside the common room and didn’t break any visible rules. Flitwick may have called him clever for his diversion, but the loss of points did spell it out that Draco had to learn how to scrub off all ways of criminalization. 

Either way, the Forbidden Forest had come up. Blame his godfather for getting a little too invested from his past and then to having Potter and Weasley in his House. 

In perspective, (when the night came, and he was too tired after all that screaming) it all could have ended in a better night if they were just given a normal detention.

And yes, he did tell his godfather that the next time he woke up and marched himself to the dungeons to have morning tea with the man. 

He woke up alone. 

Not inherently wrong or something that was awful, but Draco wanted it to be known that a part of him had been wounded by it. Foolish really, he knew that out of the quartet he hadn't been that important. Sure he had the kind of library and knowledge that they liked to keep seeing that he had the same rationale that Granger quite preferred to level out the group but he hadn't exactly got on with Weasley yet. Or with Potter too.

Besides the letters being sent off, then to having Potter rushing to the trapdoor because of course he was that type of thinker, Draco found himself into a corner where he spent many hours screaming a colorful arrangement of words under his breath. He had managed to convince Granger into coming back to their common room. Have a cup of tea. Then… wait for the clock to ring before Granger had nudged him back to his reality. The rest of the night went predictably horrible. 

It sort of reminded him of the times when Weasley talked about those ruddy old movies that used to be popular. The ones where it featured a lot of disasters that the main heroes had been forced to go against and somehow, win against all logic, as they saved the day.

He used to like them. When he didn’t bother thinking too much about how the plots were filled with many plot holes. Or that those movies had been one of the few forms that socialized his childhood when he whined for his dad to take him out from the manor walls. The films had shown how brightly colored the conflicts could get. How awful but comedic the main villains could be at their jobs.

But that had been it; Draco did not live in that type of movie. Not entirely. Maybe it was because of Potter's involvement considering that he was The-Boy-Who-Lived. Emphasize on: _who-lived_. That tagline had now been stuck with him. It terrified him because when they were under the trapdoor he had to accept that Potter was in danger. It reminded him of his gut feelings of the Black Madness spreading into his magic. He never knew how he had been able to tell what reached the last test, but when Potter was going off alone to the last test, Draco had moved.

Something had told him to follow. 

The mirror had been on perfect display. Professor Quirrell was there and the turban was soon unwrapped.

Then. 

And then. 

It all went straight to hell.

What Draco went back to was the bed he woke up in. The infirmary had been a complicated place for him. On one hand, it had the right coldness that he wanted when he wanted to be alone. Then, it had the Matron who loved to keep everything in order, including writing every instance that he needed help with sleep, relaxing and other problems had had in the year. He couldn’t hate her for being perfect at her job. He knew that his father could appreciate the fact that she was a professional and very well practiced when dealing with all kinds of children in one school.

But beyond that, Draco had seen the infirmary in fewer rounds than what he had been afraid of and this time was really the only time when he woke there without prior consent. He didn’t know how to feel when he finally took in his surroundings when a bed a couple of rows apart from him had been left undone. The mountains of candy had caught his eye, but the cards mostly. Especially when he picked himself up that he had seen an arrangement of his own. 

(They weren’t a decorative haul like Potter’s, but they had been still a surprise when he had touched the first card.)

He got to the third card when Potter, Weasley and Granger brought together Goldstein, Boot and Patil in after the feast was over. And that had been another story to hear about when they all talked about the last feast. Draco could only thank the Matron for pitying him that she allowed him to have his own mini feast with them as they talked about what happened with Quirrell and which house had won in the end. It had been a mixture or an intimate gathering and meeting as he listened to Potter’s side of the story and then Goldstein in his area when word spread about Dumbledore cleaning up the mess they made that night. 

His magic had not been expandable like Potter’s was, so he had to stay another night in the infirmary. Which, in a way had been fine and terribly sad as his mind had been filled up with a lot of information. The arrangement had him to thank Pomfrey as she gave him something that did help him sleep for the rest of the night.

It eased out the transition of him walking on a cloud in the morning until he could clearly think straight again by the time he been on his way out of the castle.

He got a good view as the Hogwarts express train started, from the window he had seen the dry woods gleam darkly. If he had looked closer, he could picture all the trouble that Potter, Weasley and Granger could pull off if given the chance. He took a breath in for three seconds, held it for four, then blew it out by seven.

He had (technically) done it.

The year was over. His manor would be waiting for him as the summer was looming over him again. It was surreal to think back to the previous June when it had been both too vast in its distance to then it tightly consuming his soul as it crawled closer. He didn’t feel like the same boy from back then. And it felt like he would never be close enough to that version of himself again.

As Hogwarts was becoming smaller, it felt like he was saying goodbye to an old part of himself. Someone that had been a tad more bratish and less forgiving. Draco was still impatient and had a very posh background make no mistake of that, but, there was an unshakable fact that he was becoming another version of himself. His father may or may not like it; and it scared him that he was starting to get excited about it. To figuring out more about himself as he was going home because he knew that the Hat had known why he had placed him there and not in Slytherin.

It would be fine.

It would be alright.

Because he was a Malfoy, and they often were persuasive and clever people that got what they wanted. And he was going to make sure the world knew of his personal achievements. Provided that Potter’s second year wouldn’t end in another disaster.


End file.
